


It's Better than Drinking Alone

by BlueThorne



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Gen, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-27 17:09:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20049583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueThorne/pseuds/BlueThorne
Summary: Post-DMC4, Dante finds himself staring into his own past as he watches Nero try to hold himself together.Written for DMC Gen Week





	It's Better than Drinking Alone

**Author's Note:**

> "Stop writing sad things about Credo."  
That's all I'm physically capable of writing though.

The kid could have mentioned sooner that he was a lightweight. Then again, considering who his dad was, I should have guessed. He’d been pretty unlucky with his inheritance - a little demon blood, an old sword, and no ability to hold his liquor. 

“Kyrie’s probably crying again. She always cries when she’s alone. Tries to hide it when I get home, but I can tell.” He lay flopped back along the couch, staring at the ceiling. Since I’d taken the bottle of whiskey away from him, he’d taken no interest in the water I’d put in its place. It still sat on the coffee table untouched. “Shouldn’t have left her alone, but I had to get away for a while. Couldn’t stay there anymore. Tried to get her to come. Tried to.”

His words dragged and slurred like he had a mouthful of honey. Even though I sat beside him on what little space he didn’t take up of the couch, I wasn’t sure if he was talking to me. Sure, he was talking, but he seemed to be addressing no one at all.

“It’s good to get away sometimes,” I offered so he would remember that I was there. “Especially for you. You need to see something that’s not that island for once. Not sure why you’d pick my place to visit or how you even found me, but I’ve always been bad at turning down strays.”

“Not a stray. I’m a visitor.”

“Same thing. Strays never stay long either.”

With a pout on his face that made him look even more like a kid, he reached up with his clawed hand and pushed my cheek away. “Shhhh. Shush. Don’t look at me like that. It’s weird.”

“Like what?” I wasn’t going to argue with those talons, so I let him turn my face away. Maybe that was for the best because when he spoke, I felt the last remnants of my calm mask crumbling away.

“Like you feel sorry for me.”

“It’s not pity, kid. It’s empathy.” I was sure he wouldn’t remember anything I said in the morning, but that was for the best. I wouldn’t have said a word otherwise. “I’ve been in the exact same position as you more times than I’d care to count. The alcohol doesn’t fix anything, but it makes you have to think less, makes the days feel shorter.”

His hand slipped from my cheek to collapse down by his face. It glowed a somber, deep blue. “Which stage is that?” he asked.

“Stage?”

“There are five stages of grief or something, right? Which one am I on? Is it almost done? I’m so damn tired of hurting.” Despite the wobbly smile he forced onto his face, tears welled up in his eyes. He’d probably been fighting them back all day. 

“Do you want a lie or the truth?”

“Does it matter?”

“I guess not." I had a feeling he already knew the answer anyway. "The truth is it never stops hurting. It never gets any easier. But you learn to live with it.”

He laughed, a mocking, bitter sound. Tears rolled down over his cheeks and fell by his ears. “You know we buried an empty coffin, right? A big, fancy coffin with nothing in it. What was the point? They said we could put one of his coats or his sword in there, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t take anything out of his room." He laughed again, wheezing like he'd been stabbed in the chest. "Couldn’t touch anything in there because what if…?” 

“He’s not coming back,” I said, but I could see in his agonized expression that he already knew that. 

“It must sound insane to want a body to bury.”

Maybe to some, but I knew that feeling down to my bones. “No, it’s something to say goodbye to. I wish I could have brought him back to you.” At least I’d been able to catch him. I’d failed at that before, but Nero didn’t have to see his brother fall out of sight. I’d been able to make sure of that much. 

“I don’t want to go back,” he murmured. “He won’t be there, and he’s supposed to be. He’s supposed to be at headquarters. He’s always working. Always ordering me around and making sure I didn’t get hurt on my missions. I’ll walk in the house, pass his room, and he’ll have fallen asleep at his desk again. I’ll go wake him up, and he’ll have some of the pen marks from his papers smeared on his cheek. He won’t even notice. He’ll just ask if my patrol shift went okay, and then he’ll pass out in his bed without taking his uniform off. That’s just how it’s supposed to be, you know?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I know. You should drink some water or you’re going to have a killer headache in the morning.”

“Okay.” Sniffling, he scrubbed the tearstains from his face with the backs of his hands. The eye under his demonic hand ended up looking more red after the fact. “Can I make a call to Fortuna from your phone?”

“In the morning. It’s late, and you’re slurring up a storm, kid.”

“Not that drunk,” he huffed, snatching the glass of water from the table only to spill at least a third of it down the front of his shirt. Frowning, he looked down at himself. “Hm, I’m that drunk. Sorry. I’m a fucking mess.”

“It’s alright. Honestly, I’m glad I’m here so you’re not drunk alone. I don’t recommend it.”

His lolling head finally found rest against my shoulder as he sipped at what was left of his water. “At least we’re losers together,” he said. “We’re drunk enough to forget all this later, right? I think I said some stupid things. Sorry. I’m so annoying. I should really shut up. The room just will not stay put, you know?”

“I’m thinking you’ll remember bits and pieces at best. Please just crash on the couch. I don’t want to see you trying to go up or down the stairs.”

Despite the tear tracks still glistening on his face, he snorted and flashed a smirk. I could still see a hint of pain in his eyes, but he was learning to pretend the same way I had. “I could do it,” he said. “I’ll just use my Bringer to throw myself up there.”

“Really, don’t. The last thing I need is you sloshed with a concussion on top of it.” 

“No fun,” he huffed, slumping down to lean more of his weight against me. If I didn’t escape soon, he would conk out and start drooling on my coat. 

“I’m using up my one responsible act per year here. You should make the most of it.” As soon as I slipped away, he collapsed in the spot where I’d been sitting and started pouting again. “I’ll get you a blanket and pillow,” I said. “And some more water. But don’t tell anyone that I was being responsible or it’ll ruin my image.”

“Like you have an image,” Nero grumbled. Though he let his eyes fall shut as he breathed a sigh, he didn’t relax. His brows remained furrowed even when he tried to sleep. 

I hoped his dreams could be kind to him at least. 

But I doubted they would be. Mine never were. 


End file.
